“As you like, Ann, as you like,” exclaimed Mr Sleech, swinging about his hat, which he had lifted from the ground. “It won’t be for long, I can tell you; we shall soon be back again, I have an idea.”
Silas endeavoured to shake hands with Mabel with a smile which he intended to be insinuating, but she indignantly turned from him.
“Oh, oh, proud as ever,” he muttered, as he followed his father out of the room, at the door of which Paul was standing sentry. He had seen them returning to the house, and it would have fared ill with either of them had they ventured to proceed much further in their insulting remarks to the ladies. Not a muscle of his countenance moved as he opened the hall-door; but his eyes glared down upon them with an expression which made even Silas wince and keep close behind his father’s heels.
“Well, that old fellow’s the essence of glumness,” observed Silas, as they got beyond hearing.
“She threatened me, she did,” muttered his father, between his teeth, not attending to what Silas had said. “But we will be even with them, or my name’s not Tony Sleech.”
Lynderton was at that time a place of fashionable resort during the summer season. People came down there to enjoy the sea breezes and the bathing in salt water, to listen to the band of the foreign legion, and to enjoy the pleasant society which was to be found in the town and its neighbourhood. During the lifetime of his sister, Lady Tryon, Mr Coppinger had declined going there; but he now acceded to the urgent entreaties of his daughters, and had taken a house for them, at which they had arrived. He himself, however, could only occasionally get down. One of the very few visitors admitted at Stanmore was the young Baron de Ruvigny. He also had soon become acquainted with the Miss Coppingers, and from the account he gave of them, as well as from the way Harry had before spoken of his cousins, Mabel more than ever was anxious to see them. Indeed, she consulted with her aunt whether she might not with propriety call upon them. The matter was discussed several times; but Madam Everard could not yet bring herself to see strangers.
“They are charming young ladies,” said the young baron, “so full of life and spirits, and so sweet and gentle; so refined in manners, so lovely in appearance.”
“What! are the six sisters all charming?” asked Mabel, innocently.
The young baron hesitated, blushed, confessed that one in particular was even more than he had described—a lovely pearl. Her name Sybella—what a sweet name. Her voice, too—she sang exquisitely.
“I have heard of her,” said Mabel, at length, “from her cousin Harry. He described her as a very interesting girl, so pray tell them, baron, that I hope soon to make their acquaintance.”